Eclipse Bay

night. Hannah stood on the front porch with Rafe and Winston, her arms folded, and watched the big SUV lumber off down the drive. It turned left onto the road, and the headlights disappeared into the night.
    She braced herself. She had managed to relax midway through the meal, and later when the conversation had turned to the subject of Kaitlin Sadler’s death, she had almost forgotten the awkward moments she’d experienced earlier in the evening. But now that she was alone again with Rafe, she could feel the uneasiness stealing back over her.
    The unsettling question returned in a rush. Just how much had Rafe overheard of Mitchell’s vow to make his grandson do right by her?
    “Well, I’d call the evening a resounding success,” she said briskly. She turned away and walked back toward the open front door. “Mitchell liked your cooking, and he seems genuinely interested in helping us figure out what’s going on around here. Can’t ask for more than that.”
    “As a matter of fact,” Rafe said, “there is one more thing.”
    “You want help with the dishes?” She paused in the doorway. “No problem.”
    He leaned against the railing and studied her in the yellow glow of the porch lights. “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. But I wasn’t referring to the dishes. I’ve been doing some thinking.”
    She realized that her heart was beating much too quickly. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that cup of strong coffee after dinner. “What exactly have you been thinking about?”
    “I said earlier that I think there’s a possibility that whoever stuck Winston out on the rock last night was after you, not your dog.”
    She felt the world drop away from beneath her feet. “Are you saying that you think someone actually tried to kill me last night?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe he just hoped there would be a convenient accident. All I know for sure is that I don’t think we should take any chances.”
    She chilled. “You’re leaping to a very wild conclusion, Rafe.”
    He straightened away from the railing and crossed the porch to stand in front of her. He gripped her shoulders with both hands. “Listen, I didn’t want to scare you like this, but I couldn’t come up with any other way to convince you.”
    “Convince me of what?”
    “That you can’t stay alone in your folks’ house any longer.”
    “I’ll think about it,” she said.
    “I’m trying to be real rational and logical here. The way I see it, we’ve got two options. You and Winston can move in with me here or else I can pack a bag and settle in at your place. Take your pick. Either one is fine by me, but I think you’d be more comfortable here. There’s more space. Hell, you can have the entire third floor to yourself if that’s what you want.”
    For a split second she was on the verge of a very primitive sense of panic. It was one thing to spend the occasional night together while they charted their way through uncertain waters in a relationship that might easily founder. It was something else again to actually pack up and move in here with him. She wasn’t sure just what the nature of that difference was, but she knew that it was important. She tried to stall while she sorted out the implications.
    “People will talk,” she said. It was weak. She knew it was weak even before she saw his brows lift.
    “People are already talking,” he said dryly. “I doubt if the gossip will get any more exciting if you move in here. You can always say that you’re just trying to stake your claim to your half of Dreamscape.”
    It was a perfectly reasonable, eminently pragmatic suggestion she told herself. And there were more bathrooms and more space here. What if someone really had intended for her to drown last night? And she did own half of this place.
    “Okay,” she said, trying to sound very cool. “I’ll go back to the house and pack my things. But I think we need some ground rules here.”
    “I was afraid you’d say something like that. Let me guess what you mean by ground rules. Separate bedrooms, right?”
    “I think it would be best,” she said very primly. “This thing is getting very complicated.”
    “And sharing a bedroom with me on a routine basis makes it even more complicated?”
    She narrowed her eyes. “An occasional night of…of—”
    “Wild passion?” he offered helpfully.
    She stiffened. “As I was saying, an occasional night together is one thing. But sharing a bedroom feels more